


The Trouble With Lunacy Is How It Was Suspended In Arkham Asylum

by Prime_Troubles



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Arkham Asylum, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Irony, Not a Crossover, Psychiatrist/Inmate Relationship, Referenced violence, Tags May Change, Threats of Violence, Tragedy, Troubles (Haven), Wrongful Imprisonment, case fic?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26470951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prime_Troubles/pseuds/Prime_Troubles
Summary: After a quick and unthorough trial, a Gotham resident is sent to the asylum where she encounters people she thought she would never meet, and one who she hoped that she would never meet. However, within a short time there, it becomes apparent to those in the asylum that there is more to her than meets the eye or possibly the ear. When the lunatics turn sane and the sane go mad, who will figure out what is going on? Will anyone figure it out? Moreover, why does the Joker stay mad through all of this?Fusion universe where Haven and the troubles exist in the Batman universe.
Kudos: 1





	1. The Evaluation Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any content of any version of Batman or Haven.

Jessica Baxter, arms bound by the straightjacket, eyed the dark brown wooden table in front of her with a solemn gaze. How did it come to this? She had told the truth and they thought that she was insane, so they sent her here, somewhere called Arkham Asylum. She had no way out now. The verdict didn't just send her to a lunatic asylum. It also marked the end of her freedom. It might as well have signified the end of her life.

She eyed the door, expecting nothing to happen, but to her surprise it suddenly opened and a man entered. He looked to be average height with darkening hair. He wore short glasses that he would probably be able to look over if he leaned forward. As beautiful as he looked, the sight of him could never be enough to mitigate her fate.

He sat down opposite her and set a file, with her name printed on the front, on the table. Instead of opening the file as she had expected, he looked her straight in the eye and spoke.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Arkham. As you might have guessed I have read your file and know why you are here. I'm here to conduct a psychiatric evaluation of you".

He paused for a moment. Did he expect a reply to the statement? She looked to him with a somber expression. Nothing sounded more futile than the practice of psychiatry when there is no prospect of being free again.

He said, "We should get started. You professed innocence at your trial. Why?"

She answered, "What, didn't the police put that in my file? I've already told them a thousand times".

She looked to the side with her eyes half closed and continued, "There's no point saying it again".

He said, "Well they didn't put it in the file. You must realise that police records aren't kept here. I only have your psychiatric record which itself is new since you have never been committed before now. So I ask again, why did you plead your innocence at the trial?"

She responded, "What, the police didn't give you any records? So what's that in front of you", she leaned forward, "that clearly has my name on it?"

He answered, "It's your file. We do have some basic information about you, height, weight, an overview of your case at trial".

She leaned back to sit up straight for a moment but failed to hold the optimistic posture and hunched forward.

After an uneventful silence, she spoke again, "I didn't murder them", she closed her eyes as she continued, "I'm still horrified that they're dead".

In a formal tone he replied, "But from what we're told, you stabbed them multiple times, all with the same blade".

It was no use, the system would never listen to her. If there was any hope in the system then she wouldn't have been sent here in the first place.

She answered, "I didn't murder them. I saw the man who did, why won't anyone look for him?"

She shook her head in despair.

He responded, "It says in your file that you claimed there was another man there, but police have found no evidence that there was anyone there besides you and the people you killed. Why did you lie?"

She brought herself to look at the man opposite. She hardly noticed it before but he was formally dressed except for the lab coat. Was that conventional attire in an asylum?

In a sullen voice she said, "I didn't lie".

He answered, "The evidence says otherwise".

She closed her eyes in thought as she considered whether there was any merit to this conversation at all. The man opposite, who curiously has the same name as the asylum, believes everything that the state tells him even when it isn't true. It couldn't be that simple. He couldn't be so one dimensional, could he? Maybe he doesn't know anything more than his own job. Is the situation that hopeless, or will he listen to reason?

She moved her neck to be able to look at him again and said, "I told the truth throughout the entire trial and I won't stop now. I don't know what evidence you have to contradict the truth but when I left that place, those two men were dead. But I didn't murder them".

He enquired, "So what happened?"

She answered, "I have told the police, the court, my lawyer what happened. I'm sure one or more of those put my testimony in my file".

He said, "Like I said before Ms Baxter, I have only an overview of your case to work with, I don't have any interview records or transcripts, just a summary of what occurred".

She returned her gaze to the table with the feeling that this was going nowhere.

He asked, "I am curious to know however, what is your side of the story? What do you think happened that night?"

She replied, "You're asking me to tell my story again, after I've told it a thousand times already?"

He said, "Keep in mind Ms Baxter that I'm here to help you, to treat you".

She raised her head again to look him in the eye. She had to know if he was sincere, corrupt or just mindlessly doing what he is told, unaware of the real truth of the matter. He held her gaze like a professional but with no sign of being a husk either. His look was not hard like that of law enforcement but neither did it seem to yield to tempestuousness or a torrid inclination. She dared not stare for too long as his blue eyes were beginning to draw her attention beyond an assessment of whether he is likely to be a reasonable man.

She asked, "What kind of treatment can I expect in here?"

He replied in earnest, "We will do all that we can for you".

She lightly exhaled, almost feeling like her breath could reach the table.

He continued, "You need to give me something to work with if I'm to help you".

She began, "I was walking home that night after visiting a friend of mine. I don't get to see her often and we had a lot to catch up".

She paused and eyed the man opposite cautiously. He nodded for her to continue.

She proceeded, "I stayed with her longer than I intended. I still had work to go to the next day after all, but sadly I had missed the bus. Well the distance to where I live was too short for me to take the skytrain, so I walked".

She looked as he regarded her with interest, but didn't write anything. Weren't psychiatrists supposed to take notes?

Leaving the thought alone for now, she continued, "Well I wasn't going to risk the alleyways, but at the same time I live in one of the quieter parts of Gotham. I was following one of the roads along when a couple of hoods stopped me. I knew that I couldn't go home without going through one of the shadier neighbourhoods and I chose the shortest route through there possible and still I was unlucky".

He enquired, "What happened next?"

She answered, "One of them grabbed me practically by the collar and forced me into the alleyway. He wouldn't let go of me. The other one wasn't far behind him. He pressed me hard against the wall".

She eyed the table again, still dismayed that the court considered the harm that came to her, the bruising and the scratches, irrelevant.

She continued, "His buddy pointed a gun at me. I thought they wanted money, my phone, maybe they thought they could get some jewellery. I thought they were going to rob me. But instead he put the gun to my head and said 'Sing'. I could hardly believe it. Why would they want me to sing? What was that worth to them?"

He replied, "I don't know. What happened next?"

She closed her eyes and said, "I didn't know what to do. I only wanted to go home and they wouldn't even let me leave. He said 'sing or die'. I tried to warn him. I told him that it was a bad idea but he wouldn't listen".

He asked, "Did he want you to sing a specific song?"

She answered, "No. I couldn't have granted his request even if he had made one".

He said, "What do you mean?"

She replied, "There's no way for sure that I would have known whatever song he could have wanted me to sing".

She paused again and eyed the table. All of this was a waste of time. Why bother recounting events to this man since the verdict has already been reached? She drew herself to look across the table again. The man opposite had changed little in his expression. Did this mean anything to him or is this just a process to complete? She considered asking him what would happen to her next but supposed that it didn't matter. Her fate was already sealed.

She returned to the explaination, "He wouldn't take no for an answer. He had no idea...."

She closed her eyes and with an otherwise solemn expression continued, "When I sang, the one who was holding me let go and for a moment they both seemed unsure. The one with the gun looked down at his weapon. I tried to run away but the one who let me go a moment earlier started choking me. He didn't get to finish as I saw another man come into view behind him. I still remember the look in his eyes. I had no idea that anyone besides the two hoods had even heard me".

He enquired, "What makes you think that he heard you?"

She exhaled, wanting to think about something else, but there was nothing left.

She looked across the table with her eyes half open and responded, "He must have heard me. He stabbed that man, both of them, so many times.... I don't know where he got the blade. I didn't see him take it out. So much blood...."

She eyed the near side of the table, finding it more forgiving than her recollection of events.

She began to quiver, "I never wanted this. I didn't want to sing for them. I just wanted to go home".

Seeing her quiver, he said, "We can continue talking about this tomorrow. It seems there is more here than we have time for in this one session".

He took the file and stood up almost silently. As he walked to the door, he paused and turned around to look at her once again. She brought her head up with effort and looked to him to see what he was doing, and in that moment she realised that something had struck him. He had a look in his eye. She couldn't identify the emotion to it. It was neither anger or kindness but something in between. No sooner did she have a solid glance on his expression than he turned and left the room with a stride. Why did he look back at her?


	2. The Evaluation Part 2

The next day Jessica was in the interview room again, bound by the straightjacket. She eyed the unoccupied dark brown wooden chair opposite her. Would Doctor Arkham return today or did psychiatrists operate on a rota basis? She looked to the left and noticed a security camera in the top corner of the room. GCPD did the same in their interview rooms too, except the officers of the law never bound her in a straightjacket when they questioned her. She eyed the red light that was flashing just below the camera itself. Was that really necessary? The camera moved down and to the side slightly, as if it was looking at her. Was this amusing to whoever monitored the feed or did they find it tediously boring?

The door opened while she watched the camera and someone sat down at the table before she turned to see who had entered. She eyed Doctor Arkham with fatigue but his reciprocal gaze did not yield to hardness or emotional delicacy.

He opened with, "I'd like to continue what we were talking about yesterday, what happened in the alleyway between you and those men".

She said, "No I didn't finish telling you what happened. Well I was being choked when I saw another man approach behind my attacker".

He interjected, "There is something I would like to ask you. What makes you think that your singing had any effect on them?"

She answered, "I hadn't got through the first line of the song when they hesitated, then there was the look in their eyes. One of confusion and something else. It happened so quickly that I couldn't tell what it was, but I knew that I had caused it".

He asked, "Couldn't it be that they simply hadn't heard your voice before?"

She sighed and looked to the table, "It was more than that, much more".

He said, "Could you elaborate?"

She replied, "It's like I said at the trial. Something in my voice moved them, something in my singing voice".

He confirmed, "Yes, your file references that you claimed that it was your singing that changed their behaviour. Could you explain how that works?"

She eyed him curiously, "I don't know how it works. I have never known how that works".

He reiterated, "So you claim that your singing altered their behaviour but you don't know how?"

She said, "Yes".

He enquired, "Tell me more about how they changed. What was different in their behaviour compared to those minutes before you sang?"

She began, "Well like I said, the one with the gun stopped pointing it at me, and they both looked confused for a moment. I tried to run but the one who wasn't holding a gun caught me, pressed me against the wall and started choking me. I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye. It was obvious that he wanted me dead".

Would things have been much different if he had succeeded? She dismissed the question from her mind. It ceased to be relevant once the verdict was passed.

She continued, "While I tried to escape from his hand, another man appeared behind him. I don't know where that guy came from, but he looked enraged. When I first saw him, it looked like he was coming towards me and...."

She shuddered and closed her eyes for a second.

She continued, "I thought he was coming towards us but when I looked up again he had gone".

He asked, "Gone? Where did he go?"

She answered, "I don't know, somewhere out of sight, and then I heard gunshots. I couldn't see who fired them. I couldn't even move my neck".

He said, "According to your file, there was no gun found at the scene of the crime".

She replied, "The last I saw of the gun that night was just before I tried to run away".

He said, "But one of them caught you and started choking you. What did you do next?"

She continued, "I fought him as much as I could, I would never have got out if that man...."

He enquired, "If he what? Which of these men are you referring to?"

She eyed the table again, feeling that it was the only thing in the room with any patience for her.

She sighed and exhaled slowly, "If he hadn't stabbed that man then I wouldn't be here now".

What was that worth, to live as a prisoner with an indefinite sentence and unending psychiatry? Was that life now? Was that life in any way, shape or form?

He mentioned, "There appears to be something missing from what you have told me so far. You didn't explain when the other man was stabbed. Did that happen before or after the one choking you was stabbed?"

She answered, "When the one choking me fell to the ground, I was able to look around and that was the first time I saw the bloody mess of the stabbings. The one who had the gun earlier was lying in a pool of blood. The one who was choking me...…..would have landed on me if I hadn't moved aside in time".

He reiterated, "So from being choked you then heard gunshots but you didn't see who fired them, then the man who was choking you was stabbed. Who stabbed him?"

She replied, "It was the one who entered the alley last. He stabbed them both. I still remember the look in his eyes, the madness....and somehow he was never caught".

He said, "The file says that only you and those two men were there, and that there was no third man. Why is there no evidence of a third man?"

She closed her eyes and said, "I have no idea. All I know now is that this will be all that I hear about for the rest of my days".

He replied in sympathy, "We won't always talk about this. In time I'm sure that we will have other things to talk about, but for now I must finish running the psychiatric evaluation of you".

She eyed him and responded, "You did that yesterday".

He answered, "I never finished it yesterday Ms Baxter. I thought that it would be a good idea to make it a two part evaluation since you seemed so depleted yesterday".

She looked to the table again and despite the almost untouched finish, she thought of how it would feel to the wood to have claw marks scratched into it. The sensation of being clawed into and the pain of it. This is how she felt now at the statement the man opposite made. Even her own psychiatric evaluation was drawn across multiple sessions. No day without a reminder of what happened on that fateful day.

She was drawn away from her thoughts when the man opposite said, "I was hoping that we could finish the evaluation today. I still have yet to make my own formal diagnosis".

She remained motionless. Nothing felt more irrelevant now than process, especially with a guilty by insanity verdict. There was nowhere to go, nothing to stand for any more.

He leaned in slightly, "Ms Baxter?"

She gave a low reply, "What?"

He said, "I still have more questions for you".

She knew that her recollection of events to him was still incomplete. She supposed that she had to finish it, not that it would change anything.

She opened, "He stabbed them....and forced the knife in my hand. I didn't know what to do...."

She quivered, "Why did he give me the knife? I had no idea what he was going to do. He could have attacked me....but he ran away".

He responded, "Just a few more questions, then we can conclude for today".

He paused for a moment to watch her before reiterating, "This third man, the last one to enter the alleyway, was the one who stabbed those men, then he put the murder weapon in your hand".

She quivered, "Yes, but there is something else".

She drew in a breath before saying, "Before he gave me the knife, I saw him stab the man on the ground. He was like a maniac. He just wouldn't stop-".

She closed her eyes and held her breath in an almost futile effort to hold back the tears. All of this happened just because she sang. All of this just because she wouldn't say no.

He asked, "What happened when he gave you the knife? Did he say anything?"

She tried to move her arms only for the sensation to remind her of the tightness of the straightjacket. This thing....wouldn't even allow her to steady herself. What could she do? How could she stop quivering while bound like this?

She replied, "He gave me the knife....placed it firmly in my hand, made me grip it tight........He didn't say anything. He didn't say a word. I don't know which way he went, all I saw were those bodies....those people....there was nothing I could do, so I fled".

He asked, "Do you remember what you did with the knife Ms Baxter?"

She paused for a long moment before finally answering, "I don't know....I just wanted to get out of there...."

Memories of the scene were ever more present in her mind. Those thugs, bleeding on the street and all of the stabbing. The maniacal look in the eye of the man who stabbed them both. It was like he was drooling with madness. The swift motion of the blade, the screams, such terrible noise. It all started because she didn't say no.

Doctor Arkham said, "It's time to go".

She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She stayed still and silent in the company of her guilt.

He said, "I will see you for your next session tomorrow. Afterwards someone will show you around and you might get to meet some of the other patients".

She glanced to him and said, "Seriously?"

He replied, "Yes, and it looks like you could use another night of rest before you meet them and before we continue".

He left the room with a stride. At least he didn't grin or pretend that it's going to be a good time.


	3. First Session

Jessica couldn't bring herself to look at the chair opposite her. This was her third day in the asylum and all that she had seen was her cell, the corridors, and this room. If serving her sentence continued like this then it looked set to be a dreary time. Doctor Arkham mentioned meeting other patients. In truth, anyone who wasn't part of the staff in here was an inmate. Why would they allow inmates to meet other inmates in here? No sooner had the question come to mind than she saw Doctor Arkham enter the room and watched him as he sat down opposite her.

He said, "Hello again Ms Baxter, this will be our first session".

What?

She dryly interrupted, "We have had two sessions already, doctor".

He answered, "No, that was your evaluation. The purpose of your psychiatric evaluation is to determine what help, and if necessary, what treatment you may need and as I said at the time, it was also to form a diagnosis".

Does that even mean anything when your life is reduced to one building?

She replied, "What's going to happen to me now? Are you going to give me pills?"

He answered, "I don't think that's necessary just yet-".

She noticed that he seemed to stop midsentence, and she eyed him as she wondered why he stopped. He eyed her as if he had only just noticed her despair. There was no confusion in his expression, but for a moment he looked uncertain.

As she moved to speak, he managed to say something first, "- I, uh, think that we can talk this through. There is no reason we should have to give you medication just yet".

She looked at him in curiosity. He shuffled his hands lightly over her file. Maybe it was nothing, it wouldn't be mentionworthy in other circumstances. She watched him look to her empathetically.

She asked, "What can I expect of these sessions?"

He replied, "We will talk through your experiences, what led you to believe that you can so drastically change a persons mind within the first line of a song, and anything else that may be relevant to treating you".

She sighed, "What do you want to know?", and looked down to the table just to avert her gaze from him.

He asked, "Two days ago I noted that you said you believe that the behaviour of those men that you killed changed after you sang to them. I want to start with that, what makes you think that your singing meant anything to them?"

It would always be about that day and that incident. Does this man ever think of anything else?

She replied, "It isn't about the lyrics that I sang. My voice changed them, not the words".

He responded, "But we have been talking for at least two days now. This is the third time that we have spoken and your voice has had no unusual effect on me".

She argued, "It's my singing voice specifically. It doesn't happen with my standard talking voice, only when I sing. I could even whistle and it wouldn't effect that change".

He replied, "You believe that this change occurs only when you sing. Tell me, what exactly does change in those who you sing to?"

She responded in earnest, "I don't sing exactly because I know what change occurs in those who hear it. I....didn't want to do it".

She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly as if to deny any attention to her own adrenaline. She tried to extend her arms in the straightjacket but found that it did not stretch. While she had no doubt that she should never have sung on that fateful day, she had the strong feeling that the man opposite her wouldn't believe her if she told him about the trouble. Why would he believe her? She has been declared insane after all. He thinks it is insanity anyway. Would it change anything to tell him? She opened her eyes again and looked across the table to him to find him silent. She had never expected psychiatrists to have much patience. On the other hand, she never expected to be locked in an asylum either.

She chose to say more to him as opposed to further introspection, "I didn't want them to come to any harm. I thought that if I did it, they would leave me alone".

He said, "You still have yet to answer my question. What change do you see in those who you sing to?"

She answered, "They go from being normal people to maniacs. They change so much, I don't even know where to start".

He proposed, "Why don't you start from the beginning? This effect of your singing....has it happened before?"

She replied, "I don't think so, though there was that one time when Mark didn't come into school the next day and no one knew why".

She eyed the man opposite as she added, "We saw him again the day after that and he seemed fine. But the day before he didn't come in, I had sung. I was alone, at least I thought I was alone. I didn't see anyone around, but maybe I hadn't been careful enough. I avoided singing after that, it was obvious that had been a close call".

He replied, "What had been a close call?"

She gripped her straightjacket for a moment before releasing it. The school incident had been the last time that her trouble had almost been discovered. It had happened in Haven, before she moved to Gotham. As far as she knew, the troubles don't exist in Gotham except for her own trouble, and she is the only person in Gotham with this trouble.

She responded, "He could have been hurt....or worse".

He said, "What makes you think that your singing could have hurt him in any way?"

It's a trouble, and the man opposite knows nothing of the troubles. Hopefully, for his sake, he would never know the troubles.

She answered, "It's just the way my singing voice works. I know it isn't right, but there's nothing I can do to stop it, except not to sing. I'm sorry for what happened to those men in the alley. It should be me lying in a pool of blood, not them".

He argued, "It wasn't your singing that killed them. The evidence presented at the trial and the ruling given by the court say that _you_ killed them, not your voice. Don't you-".

She interrupted, "-What difference does it make? I've been sentenced to spend the rest of my days in here because the two of them died, and just to twist the knife I was sent _here_ to make sure that I would hear about it every day for the rest of my days. Is that what you wanted to hear, _doctor_?"

He argued, "No it isn't, and I'm not here to see that you hear about it for the rest of your days. I'm here to treat you, help you overcome this delusion".

He was kidding, right? Of course he couldn't realise that what happened was the result of her trouble. He thinks that the trouble is a delusion? It would be funny if it weren't so sad. But the truth of the matter is that the troubles are never funny, no matter where you are when they surface.

She countered, "I'm incarcerated because they died! It should have been me, but I did what I was told and it got me here! I should be-".

Suddenly she noticed the look in his eyes. There was no anger as she had expected. Instead he looked pained, but why? This was more interrogation, wasn't it? What was he hoping for? Did he really believe that she was insane for singing another to madness? Did he so completely disbelieve that anything like the troubles could even exist? She held her ground as she gawked at him in amazement. Every nerve in her arms stood on end as she realised that he couldn't believe that anything so bad could be possible.

She yielded, "I suppose it is, though I still have to serve my time, and I was sent here to serve it no matter what anyone thinks".

The man opposite looked dissatisfied as he said, "I was hoping to make some progress in this session, even though it is officially your first session since your psychiatric evaluation. I would like to go back to what you were saying before about the boy who missed a day of school. How do you know that he heard you sing on the previous day?"

She glanced to the table distractedly then eyed the man opposite in chagrin as she answered, "When I saw him again on the day after he wasn't at school, he looked fine, completely normal. He wasn't injured or bruised. He didn't sound like he had a cold or the flu. He just seemed like his usual self, as if nothing had happened".

He replied, "Isn't it possible that he had somewhere else to be that day? Not every day out of school is caused by illness".

She countered, "But he missed a midweek day, and I can't believe that he took a one day vacation".

He answered, "There could be another reason. Maybe he had something to go to, perhaps he was given compassionate leave".

The possibility didn't feel right to her, but the school incident never did feel right. What felt especially wrong about it was how everyone continued with their lives as if it was nothing. Although her trouble went undiscovered because this was the case, it bothered her that no one thought anything of a one day absence.

She answered, "That sounds unlikely for a midweek day".

He asked, "Why?"

She replied, "Mark didn't hide his feelings. If he missed someone then everyone would have noticed. Instead he seemed normal, not happy or sad. Someone would have noticed a change in him if something had happened in the previous week or earlier".

He enquired, "What makes you think this boy wasn't capable of hiding his feelings that one time, and what makes you think that you're responsible for him missing a day of school?"

She started to lightly shake on hearing the accusation that she was lying. She had told the truth all the way, through the trial, through interrogations, even here in the asylum and still no one listens or so much as considers her perspective. She sighed at the futility that had become her life.

She gazed at the table with severity as she replied, "He never hid his feelings. Such a thing would have been uncharacteristic for him. I don't know how he heard me but he must have sneaked behind a tree or a building, somewhere that put him in earshot of me. I don't know what he did.... I didn't see him anywhere".

He said, "You assume he couldn't or wouldn't hide his feelings just like you assume that he must have heard you that day".

Seemingly out of nowhere, Doctor Arkham started taking notes. Jessica hadn't seen him write a thing in the last two sessions and he chooses _this moment_ to start writing notes? He mentioned earlier that he made notes about the evaluation and he sure didn't do _that_ during the evaluation. Perhaps he has spare time that he can dedicate to just writing notes, or would that be an _assumption_? Whatever the man opposite was here for, it surely wasn't to help. Now that she thought about it, Jessica couldn't remember ever hearing of an example of someone describing their psychiatrist as helpful. On the other hand, she was never interested in psychology and neither were any of her friends. This world....of cells and straightjackets, interview rooms and psychiatrists, was completely new to her. How long would it be before something stereotypical happened? Maybe something stereotypical had happened and she hadn't noticed it.

She eyed him attentively as he wrote, his modest hand crossing the page at an average speed. She couldn't see what he was writing. He wasn't too far away for her to see, but he held the pad at such an angle that she had no chance of seeing what he was writing from there. Was this what was done here? Her own record being kept away from her own eyes. Did they do this to all of the inmates?

She watched him strategically put the notes out of her range of sight and into her file. She watched him set her file on the table again and set his arms across her file. As soon as he looked to her, she looked him straight in the eye and eyed him critically.

He responded by saying, "You're going to be here for some time Ms Baxter, but I think you already know that to be the case. I'm going to have someone show you the communal parts of the asylum. We don't normally let patients eat in their cells unless they are in solitary confinement. You will start eating with the other patients tomorrow. I think, however, that we can let you start using the rec room today. A final thought for you Ms Baxter. I suggest that you consider that your actions, your singing, doesn't mean as much to other people as you think it does".

She watched him stand up from the chair, sidle around to behind it and lean over it to pick up her file. He paused as he glanced to her and they both remained still for a heartbeat, eyeing each other critically, before he took her file and left the room. They shared more glances in this session than they had in the last two days. Why is he trying to seem interesting? Is he usually dull or is it something else? She ignored the feeling for now. There was a tour to worry about next and the chance of meeting other inmates. She had no idea what was coming.


	4. Meet The Joker

It was the first time in three days that Jessica had been allowed to walk through the corridors of the asylum without wearing a straightjacket. She was escorted around the asylum by a man whose clothes reminded her of nurses. When she asked him about his job, he said that he is an orderly and made some surly under his breath comment about cleaning up messes. Two armed guards also followed her while the orderly showed her around the communal parts of the asylum. There wasn't much of anything to see in the dinner hall and the showers as both of those places were unoccupied except for the tour. Each and every room looked worn down and misery seemed to permeate the walls especially in the haggard showers which had worn out tiles and a clear lack of privacy. This was not going to be a good time. Maybe death was the only escape from this place.

The orderly introduced the rec room as the last room on the tour of the place. He gave her a moment to get a look at the room before telling her that she was to stay here and that someone would come back for her later. The armed escort left the room without a word. She took another, longer moment to get a good look at this room. The rec room was as blandly coloured as all of the other rooms that she had seen in this place. The grey tiled floor was hardly noticeable and the walls were almost as bland. The walls were such a colour that Jessica couldn't tell if they were supposed to be beige or grey. The windows at the end of the room allowed the outdoor light to streak in around the black, ornately made, metal bars. She saw two men playing chess at a table to her right. There was a small group of inmates sitting on mismatched chairs near the windows. Continuing to look around anticlockwise, she noticed a television at the end of the room with a brown, bland sofa in front of it. What she saw next made her want to run straight out of here. She would take being anywhere on Earth as long as it wasn't in the same room as that man.

It was so surreal just to be looking at him. The Joker casually lazed on a chair near the corner of the room, grinning widely almost as if he had been sniffing his own creation, the laughing gas. This was the man who flooded Gotham mall with that gas last year. The death count of that one incident reached into the hundreds. He had committed countless other crimes since then and was reported to have been caught several weeks ago during a heist. Why isn't he in prison?! Jessica's heart pounded in her chest as she hoped that he hadn't noticed her, that even if he did see her, he would ignore her completely. She quickly looked away from him as she walked slowly to the right, past the guys who were playing chess, with her heart thumping in her chest as hard as it did that fateful day when she almost got shot. No, she couldn't think about why she was in here. She had no time for those thoughts. What would he do to her if he saw her? She thought back to what Doctor Arkham said earlier. No one cares what you do. It sounded fatuous, but that was only because he didn't know about the troubles. Even if she didn't have the trouble, it still sounded like a nonsensical thing to say.

She proceeded to the chairs near the windows and saw that most of them were occupied. She looked at one of the remaining chairs, it was a green, furnished chair that looked like the dust had stuck to it and looked in need of stitches to close those two forming holes. She sat down on the chair in an effort to blend in, though her heart continued to push her ribcage. She wanted to get out of here and she wanted out _now_ , but if she drew attention to herself.... She couldn't help but gulp at the thought of what might happen in that case. No....the safest thing that she could do is blend in and seem as innocuous as possible. She noticed that the nearby inmates were looking at her. Did they expect her to say something? She looked away in the hope that they wouldn't continue to give her unwanted attention.

As she looked away to the left, she noticed someone who was wandering around. When she looked straight at the person, she realised that it was an orderly. He seemed to be avoiding people. She wanted to take comfort in seeing him, but what could he do? If the Joker decided to make a move, there would be nothing he could do about it. As her heart continued to pound at the thought, she looked away from him and started to feel out of breath in the knowledge that if Joker decided to make a move, no one could stop him. She tried to steady herself and avoid thinking about him. She tried to continue looking around the room while getting her breath back but it was no use. Knowing that the Joker was in the room was too distracting for her to become acquainted with the place. While she didn't really _want_ to get acquainted with the asylum, she knew that legally she had no way out.

After a few minutes more of steadying herself, she brought herself to look at the inmates near to her. Now that she could hear the sounds in the room over her rapidly beating heart, she noticed that the other seated inmates were silent. Even the chess players weren't saying a word. Was everyone as nervous as her about having the Joker in the room, or is this just the average day for a new guy? She looked in no specific direction, purposely avoiding so much as glancing at the Joker, with a solemn expression to reflect her inward despair. The sound of chess pieces being moved on the chess board, the sound of footsteps moving around steadily....and silence from the television. Maybe no one in here was interested in watching television, or maybe the television didn't work.

Before she could consider it further, a voice from behind her said, "Well look at you, I don't believe we've met".

Her eyes widened as she recognised the voice of the Joker. Now why would he talk to her?

As he walked around to stand in front of her, he said, "Now why don't you introduce yourself. I'm....well I can't remember what my name is actually. Isn't that funny?", finishing with an unmistakable laugh.

He continued, "But you can call me Joker. Now tell me, what's your name and why the security?"

Why does he care? What could he want with such an ordinary person? She looked at him and he met her gaze with a wild gleam in his eye. She faltered for words for a moment until she found something quick and short to say to him.

She stammered, "....I....uh....what's it to you?"

He repeated, "What's it to _me_?! I think we should try that one again don't you? Everyone in here knows what I do to anyone who tries to cross me", his voice turned low, "I have a reputation to uphold. If I say tell me your name then that means _tell me your name_!"

His voice returned to sounding calm as he said, "Now lets try that again shall we? Your name?"

Her heart was beating hard through her chest as she simply said with a deep frown, "Jessica".

He ridiculed, "Now that wasn't so hard now was it?", and widely, overbearingly grinned at her.

As each moment passed, she increasingly couldn't escape the feeling that she was going to die.

He proceeded, "Now Jessica, why were you brought in by a couple of armed guards?"

She answered, "I don't know".

He accused, "Liar!", and swiftly moved around to behind her.

In fear of what he might do, she moved to get up but he forced her back into the chair with both hands on her shoulders.

He complained, "Did I say you could leave?"

What felt like the miniscule moment of a fraction of an intense heartbeat passed before he said, "I don't like people who lie to me. You can ask Bustin' Justin. He was the last one to try that, you can find him in the ocean somewhere around Dead Man's Point".

He paused before continuing, "Now I don't like repeating myself so I'm going to do this just one more time. Any mistakes on your part and you'll be joining Justin in the sea".

She felt paralyzed with obligation to stay in the chair and directing her attention to what to say to the Joker was all that she could do to distract herself from her heart trying to escape from her ribcage by force.

He continued, his voice low, "Why were you brought in here by armed guards?"

A tear streamed from her eye as she answered, "They think I'm a murderer, that's why there were armed guards".

He jeered, "You? A murderer? I don't believe it".

She held her tongue. Her only desire was to get out of here and as far away from him as possible.

He continued, "I can't believe you'd just murder a couple of muggers in some back alley, not even in self defence!"

He couldn't know about that, could he?

Again he continued, "I'm sure you have other talents".

She quivered in the chair, trying not to cry some more, trying not to think about her pounding heart. At the same time she wondered what he was talking about, what talents?

He pressed, "Some of us have more than others. Take Zsasz over there", he pointed to one of the men who was sitting at the chess table but no longer playing chess. Specifically, he pointed to the bald one who looked something between bored and calculating with his not quite frown and the plain look in his eyes. Both of the chess players were clearly watching her and the Joker now.

Joker elaborated, "You can't see them but his arms are marked with tallies. Each one carved directly into his skin. You know why he does that hmm?"

He pushed her down into the chair again and gripped her shoulders firmly as he continued to speak. She hadn't even tried to move this time yet he did that anyway.

He demanded, "Well?! What do you think he does?"

She gasped for words and after the passing of an instant, drew, "I - I don't know, I've never seen him before in my life!"

He replied in a mean tone, "He does that to keep count of all of them. Every last kill....maybe you'll get to join his tally one day, but not before I've had my fun with you first!"

She could see Zsasz eyeball the Joker like a man with a grievance. She couldn't escape the feeling that the Joker had just told her something important. It would probably kill her if nothing else here did first. She wondered if Zsasz would interrupt the Joker but despite his grim expression he remained silent.

Joker persisted, "Speaking of fun, one of my own talents is putting smiles on peoples faces", and laughed again.

Grinning widely, he continued, "Do you know what I think would put a smile on everyones faces here? A song. I could do it but I simply don't have your talent", his voice turned low again, "know what I mean?"

She couldn't hold back as a tear escaped her eye. She glanced to the orderly, hoping that he would do something, but he seemed to be keeping a low profile near the door. Perhaps he was afraid of the Joker too or maybe he didn't see the harm in what Joker wanted from her.

She could hardly stop herself from shaking, she surely couldn't stop her heart from still knocking on her ribcage, as she looked Joker straight in the eye and on the edge of crying again replied, "I don't sing".

Joker shouted, "What?", in anger as he slid a blade out from his sleeve and held it to her neck.

She couldn't hold back any longer from visibly quivering in the chair in fear. She began to cry in waves knowing that this had to be the end. She had to say no to him even if it meant her life. She couldn't make the same mistake again as she had on that fateful day.

Joker growled to her, "I don't think you have a choice here. Now pull yourself together and give us a song!"

She remained silent, cowering at the jagged blade at her throat.

He shouted into the room, "Where do you think you're going?!"

She tried to move her head to see what was happening but with the serrated edge against her skin, it was too dangerous to move. Joker pulled her hair back with a jolt, his grip fierce and tight.

He shouted, "Get back in here now or she dies!"

She heard some quiet, faint, distant movement but didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He continued, "Nobody walks out on me, understand?"

Suddenly he snapped, "Good".

He suddenly released her hair from his grip, not that this allowed her any meaningful movement of her own, especially with the blade still at her throat.

He said, "Now where were we? I think your problem is that you don't have a song to sing, isn't that right?"

She could only cry in response feeling that death was imminent either way.

Blatantly ignoring her, Joker verbally considered, "Now what could I make you sing? Something to pull at the heartstrings? No, that's not it. Oh I know! How about something about feeling alive?"

He shouted to her, "Come on woman! Sing me a song of how wonderful it feels to be alive!", and laughed maniacally.

She continued to cry with the inescapable feeling that her fate is sealed.

He taunted, "Oh I know what the problem is, you don't know what song I want you to sing!"

He giggled like an idiot as he leaned to her ear and said, "I want you to sing....", and told her the name of the song.

She felt some faint hope at hearing the name of the song as it was one to which she knew the lyrics. She was surprised that he named one of the songs that she did know. It didn't stop her from shaking or crying in fear of her impending death.

He said, "There! Now you know what to do! Now sing that song, and stop crying, it looks undignified".

When did he ever care about dignity? She knew that her own dignity was already lost before she even opened her mouth to sing the words. Somehow she managed to hold back the tears long enough to get through the dreaded song. She was, however, so absorbed in her own mortal peril that she didn't notice what was happening around her. She stayed in place the entire time, singing with a knife at her throat. If she could ever have moved, she might have noticed more of what was happening or even just something.

When she finished, Joker sneered, "See? Now that wasn't so hard was it?", as he withdrew the blade from her neck and retracted it back into his sleeve.

She stood up in haste and ran for the door only to find it blocked by at least a dozen people. She turned back to the Joker to see if he was following her, but instead saw him lounging in the chair that she had occupied less than a minute earlier. It already felt like forever since she left the chair and at the same time it still felt like too soon. She eyed the Joker who was grinning widely. However as she stayed in eye contact, his expression turned to anger.

He complained, "Now this isn't what I was hoping for, not at all. I thought you could do so much better!"

She wanted to leave but the fear of him kept her gaze in place.

He added, "You know I thought you'd be a riot, turns out you're no fun at all. I was hoping for _action, chaos,_ but instead we have this!"

He pointed to the crowd of inmates who were in a fight at the door. How could he think that this _isn't_ chaos? She glanced to them for a fraction of a second before looking to Joker again. There was no way that she could trust him, not after what he had done. She backed away slowly, watching the Joker every second she could as she soon realised that no one else was watching him and he could kill her in an instant. It was a long painful wait and she could feel every heartbeat in her chest, every movement of her quivering limbs, even every breath she took as she waited for access to the door or even just for the Joker to leave, whichever came first. Every fraction of a second felt so long that it gave her time to think. Why does Joker murder people? How did he ever get sent here instead of prison? What is so wrong with the justice system that she could get sent to the same place as him? Any question that came to mind she considered and answered to herself within her own mind. After all of that consideration she realised that getting out of this place truly is a lost cause. Maybe she could get out, but not alive.


End file.
